Landscape
by Elise May
Summary: She's just like the weather.
1. priorities

_What can I say? I have been converted._

* * *

 _priorities_

* * *

Priorities.

She doesn't understand the meaning of the word, let alone how to spell it.

She finds spelling hard. Mummy is better at it than Daddy (better at most things, Mummy says and Daddy agrees), but it's the is and the es and the os. The vowels. Even Mummy can't help with those. They are confusing to her. She doesn't know which way around they should go. And she's not a fan ss either. They took her an age to master when she was even littler than she is now, to form clearly on the page, visible for all to read.

She remembers when she did it the first time. The first time she managed to write an S. _A capital one,_ she had proclaimed. _Just like Shelley told me to!_

Daddy had been in the kitchen, cooking something yummy tea. Mummy had been on the sofa, just above where she was sprawled out on the floor, playing a game on her tablet. Upon hearing her excited voice, both had stopped what they were doing. They shared a look, walking over to the girl in the denim waistcoat, hair tied neatly in a bobble on either side of her head.

She remembers smiling widely. So proud of her achievement that both of her parents were at a loss for what to say.

"Baby." Daddy spoke first. "Baby, that's amazing. Well done!"

He'd kissed her head before going back to the stove. Mummy had gotten down on to the floor beside her, pushing her fringe back from her face so that she could look at her properly. Her clever baby girl.

"You are amazing," she had said. And she'd meant it; her voice so sure, so strong. "I am so proud of you."

And now, as she attempts to tackle this word, so unfamiliar to her that it causes a slight unease in her tummy, her mother's pride is all she is wanting to obtain.

"Daddy." She prods him. He's half asleep and it's only six o'clock and she giggles at the face he pulls in an attempt to disguise his dozing. "Can you help me?"

He rubs his eyes.

"I can't spell pre-awe-ratties," she tells him.

"You can't spell what?" He is trying so hard not to tease her.

"Pre-awe-ratties."

He sits up, hides a yawn in her hair which he presses a kiss to.

"Mummy should be home soon. She'll be able to help you."

"But I want to surprise Mummy. I want to show her I can spell without her."

She has never looked nor sounded more determined.

Nick's smile is as wide as her frown is deep. He takes the pencil from her hand and watches as she rips a page out of her exercise book for him to write on.

"Priorities," he repeats, making a point of pronouncing the word properly. "P-r-i-o-r-t-i-e-s."

She doesn't notice that he has spelt it incorrectly.


	2. value

_value_

* * *

There is something to be said about the way we hold the things that are of the most value to us.

She thinks about the way her Mummy and Daddy hold her hands in the street. They hold them so tightly that she feels secure. She _is_ secure and she knows that she is, what with Mummy on her left and Daddy on her right; she sandwiched between them, allowing herself to be swung.

 _1, 2, 3... Jump!_

They don't hold on to her in this way because they don't trust her or because they think she is going to run away from them.

(She would never do that.)

They do it because they want to keep her safe. They do it because when they are crossing roads, she is sometimes so eager to get to wherever it is they are walking to – whether it is Roy's for breakfast, or Nanny's for tea, or Aunt Shelley's at the weekend, or anywhere at all, really – that she forgets to check for traffic. Forgets to turn her head one way and then the other, just like her Daddy told her to. She forgets that danger exists, that the world isn't just going to stop at her say so.

And it's okay to forget sometimes. Daddy can be very forgetful. He often forgets when Mummy is working late because she is in meetings with important business people with funny hair and even funnier voices. He forgets in the mornings to turn the toast over in time for it not to burn. He forgets to pick her up from school – but that did only happen the once. And he was very busy that day. Mummy said something about Simon and she thought no more about it.

But it's okay to forget.

And she knows that.

It doesn't mean you value what you forgot any less than what you would've had you remembered it. She knows because on the days Daddy forgets to tell Mummy he loves her before she leaves for work, that she looks good and smells even better (even though she can't wear her favourite perfume anymore, not after the bottle was found mysteriously smashed on the bathroom floor, its culprits' sticky handprints visible on a nearby mirror), it is the first thing he says to her when he sees her again, the moment she is through the door.

He helps her take off her coat. He smiles at her, kisses her cheek; rubs the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand as Mummy presses her forehead to his, laughing slightly and calling him a _ridiculous man_.

"Your ridiculous man."

And when they look at each other, they look with such value. Their eyes are full of it.

It is the same value with which they look at her.


	3. cloak

_cloak_

* * *

Today, she wants to be a magician.

Yesterday, it was a doctor. The day before a vet.

Simon pops round with some of his old stuff, the stuff he won't be needing once he's been shipped off to university. He gives the stuff to his almost sister with a smile, in a cardboard box, and leaves her to explore. The box is sat in, bent slightly by her body weight as she trawls through what she has been given with an eagerness to discover something she does not already have.

The pack of cards she finds at the bottom of the box baffle her upon first instance. She throws them at Daddy's head because the noise that escapes him when the cards make impact is funny and because the cards seem grown up - and whilst Daddy may not be the most grown up of grown ups, he still knows more about such things than she does.

"Daddy. What are these?"

He picks up the pack and turns it over in his hands.

"Playing cards," he says, quite simply. "They're used in magic tricks."

Immediately, her interest is piqued. Her eyes sparkle and she is leaning over the box, willing for him to continue.

"Magic?" she gaps. It's almost as if she doesn't quite believe him.

"Yeah! Proper magic!" He tips the cards out onto the rug they are sat on, all fifty two of them overlapping, but spread equally apart. "Pick a card; any card."

His voice is full of excitement, excitement which rubs off onto her and can be seen clearly in her smile, in her eyes that watch him with such a great level of care. Her actions in reaching for a card are so animated that she almost rips the box with the effort it takes for her to lean over far enough.

Daddy teaches her how to do the only magic trick he knows. He isn't very good at it - but, then, neither is she when her time comes to try it. And neither care. She is that caught up in the game that they are playing that whether or not she is playing it correctly does not come into it.

She is having fun and that's all that matters.

An hour later, when Mummy arrives home, she tells her of her newfound love for trickery. To say Mummy is confused would be an understatement.

"A magician?" she exclaims. "What happened to — ?"

But she is interrupted.

"Yes, Mummy! A magician! A magic one!"

Mummy's smile is a soft one.

"What kind of magician are you, then, eh? You've got no cloak, no wand, no hat. No bunny rabbit."

"Rabbit?"

She should've known the trouble that one would cause before the word had so much as left her lips.

"A bunny rabbit?" The excitement from earlier is back. She is bouncing on the spot, clawing at her mother's clothes as if to grab even more of her attention. "Does this mean I can get a bunny rabbit, Mummy?"


	4. closely

_Your reviews warm my heart. Thank you so much._

* * *

 _closely_

* * *

She's not scared of fireworks. The colours they spill into the sky dissolve any fear she might have developed from the loud noises that they make or the flames which they are lit from. She is taken by them. They are mesmerising to her. She sits on Daddy's shoulders and stares into the distant night sky.

It's November and it's cold.

She can see her breath as she gasps out in wonder. Her little hands are stuffed into mittens; a scarf tight around her neck, hat on head to protect the sensitiveness of her ears and cheeks, both of which are red, bitten by the chill caught in the air.

Mummy stands closely to Daddy, longing to feel some kind of warmth. One arm is wrapped around his waist. The hand of her opposite arm is holding tightly onto his and she can hear them whispering to each other, their aim not to be heard by anyone else.

"I'm glad we came," says Mummy.

They are in the garden of what used to be Granny's house. Max and Lily are standing with their mummy, watching the display that Uncle David is putting on, as captivated by it as she is. And whilst it isn't anything big or special or on a scale remotely close to that they show at proper displays – like the one the children had practically begged to go to at the Red Rec before circumstances changed, before the unimaginable happened – it is enough. It is more than enough.

Mummy kisses Daddy's wet cheek before he is able to reply to her.

"I'm glad, too."

They squeeze each other's hands.


	5. jungle

_jungle_

* * *

The zoo. The animals and the fresh air and the sound of children's laughter that rings within it. She drags Daddy by the hand to each and every one of the enclosures, Mummy trailing behind; carrying her coat, their lunches. A smile is on her lips. She takes photographs on her phone, the same phone that is taken from her in the car on the way back. She doesn't scold, doesn't berate.

In fact, she doesn't stop smiling.

"Did you have a good day?" Daddy asks.

Mummy is driving.

"Yes," she replies, although she is tired now. The game that she is playing is having the opposite effect on her than what she had intended. Her eyes are dropping.

"Sorry we couldn't take you to the real jungle, baby," Daddy says.

She'd begged and begged and begged to go. One glimpse on TV and she'd been sold. How green it looked; the life that buzzed about the place. Those jeeps you can go exploring in. All of it.

She replies through the thick cloud of sleep she can feel encasing her, "It's okay. We can go to a real one next year."

Mummy laughs at that and shoots Daddy a look.

"We best get saving then, hadn't we?"


	6. fateful

_fateful_

* * *

She will always remember exactly where she was this fateful day in July. What she was doing, who she was doing it with – the strangeness of it all. How it plays out as if in slow motion, the speed of it exaggerated to the point where seconds begin to feel like minutes, minutes being to feel like hours.

She is allowed the day off school and Mummy and Daddy are unusually quiet when they drop her off at the pub, Mummy and Shelley's exchange by the door a hushed whisper, their concern for Daddy evident in their eyes. Mummy can barely keep her eyes from him. He is still in the corner of the room, the corner which she occupies with her dollies on the floor, the angel wings Bethany had bought her for Christmas hanging from her back. She'd worn them on the journey up, worn them since the crack of dawn, reached for them almost as soon as she had opened her eyes.

Bethany said they could make her fly. Bethany said she would teach her how to one day.

Six months on and they are still her favourite gift from her favourite cousin. Her favourite cuddle when she has a tummy upset, her favourite piggyback ride down the street if she ever dares to ask nicely enough to be carried. Her favourite person to read her stories at bedtime when she is being minded because _Bethany does the voices, Daddy! I wish you would do the voices._

She feels Daddy touch one of the feathered wings she is wearing, a lingering press, his fingers coated in excess glitter – but he not caring in the slightest. Daddy ruffles her hair, paints on a smile. He kisses her head and waves goodbye, tells her to be good for Auntie Shelley before he lets Mummy take his hand, lets Mummy lead him away.

She can see tears in his bloodshot eyes. She doesn't understand what they mean.

They are gone for hours.

When they return, their faces are more sombre than they had been when they left. At the time, she hadn't really thought that possible. Hadn't really thought any of this possible.

Mummy and Shelley are whispering again, but she is able to pick out some of the words they are saying as Daddy helps her put on her coat. She hears _operation_ and _unsuccessful_ and something along the lines of _never walk again_.

"There's been an accident," is what she heard Daddy tell Mummy the previous day. She'd forgotten about that until now.

She thinks that it is sad, to never run or skip or hop. To not move. To never do any of it ever again. She looks down at her own legs as they make their way home, studies them even, the way they move and how they move and why they move. Daddy follows her eyes.

Mummy nods at him, as if to continue.

His voice sounds a bit choked when he tells her, "I need to talk to you about Bethany."

And after he has talked and she has listened, listened really hard, as hard as she ever has, she tears off her wings. Tells him that Bethany would make better use of them, for if Bethany cannot walk, she should to be able to fly. She wants her to be able to fly.

"I'll teach her."


	7. whimper

_whimper_

* * *

They wake to a whimper, a storm at their window, a crying girl at the end of their bed.

Mummy whispers Daddy's name, opening her eyes ever so reluctantly. Pulling herself into an upright position, she opens out her arms for their daughter to fall into. Thunder claps outside. She holds onto her mother tighter, mumbling nonsensical words, her tears soaking her pyjama top in small patches at the shoulder.

"It's alright. You're alright." Mummy strokes her hair.

Naturally inpatient, Mummy kicks Daddy beneath the duvet and he makes a loud groaning noise as he slowly comes to. The room is still bathed in darkness and the clock indicating the hour he catches sight of only makes him groan louder. Some time passes before he properly awakens. He manages to shuffle himself closer to the two of them, his head between each of the bed's pillows, a hand on his daughter's. He gives it a tight squeeze.

"What's wrong, eh?" he whispers.

She just shakes her head. The whole of her body is shaking with how noticeably scared she is.

"It's alright," Mummy repeats. Her fingers in her hair are making her heartbeat slow down just enough for her to be able to breathe.

She attempts to form a sentence and finds that she cannot.

She tries again.

"Storm," she says. "It's so loud."

Her tears have subsided considerably, but she is still nuzzled against Mummy's chest, jumping every time lightning strikes and fills the room momentarily with a flash of light.

They are quiet for a time before Mummy says in a soft, comforting voice, "Well, if it's the loudness that's bothering you, you're best not sleeping in here with us. No cuddles for you."

Mummy playfully hits the tip of nose with one of her fingers to which she frowns, for she is warm and safe in Mummy and Daddy's room. She is calm. Confused, she looks to Daddy for help, but he just smiles at her and gives her hand a tight squeeze. He has a feeling he knows what is coming and he is ready to hear the sound of her laughter.

"Daddy's snores are louder than any storm ever could be."


	8. legion

_legion_

* * *

She doesn't like staying at Granny's in the holidays. She understands that Mummy and Daddy have to work, of course. But with Granny comes Max and Lily and they are both far older and wiser than she is. They make it painfully obvious, playing games they know she won't be able to participate in and locking themselves away in their bedrooms, up stairs Granny doesn't like her climbing alone despite her age and her balance and her insistence that she is fine.

She's a pain because of it. She claims that she's bored and tired and hungry. _Very, very hungry, Granny._ She knows what she's doing and, as always, Granny plays right into her hands. She can't help herself. Not when it comes to her youngest and most needy grandchild.

"Shall we go to the bistro for lunch, then?"

The two of them go. Max is old enough to mind Lily for the odd hour or two. All she wants to do is see Daddy and she checks the time, one o'clock, and knows that Mummy will be there, too. Mummy and Daddy always joke about the fact that Mummy cannot leave Daddy alone at work. She hears them discussing it. Every lunchtime in which Mummy's schedule is free from meetings finds her at the bistro bar with a glass of red and an insistence that her husband serve her, and only her, for the duration of the hour.

"Mummy!"

She is the first person she sees upon entering, her hand tight in Granny's. She lets go to be picked up by Mummy, who sits her on top of the bar and passes her a straw to mess with before she does her usual thing of reaching over too far for one and taking a slight tumble in doing so. Her knee is still heeling from the last time, the tights she had been wearing bloodied, laddered and in the bin.

"Hey, you." Mummy tucks some hair behind her ears. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry," says Granny before she is able to speak for herself. "She wanted to see Nick."

Mummy smiles in the direction of him, one of her proper smiles, the ones that are rarely seen outside of the house. It doesn't matter to her that he is looking in the opposite direction and cannot see. "Oh, it's fine." She takes the straw out of her daughter's mouth before she chokes on it, throwing her a warning look as she takes the girl into her arms. "Come on. Let's go and see Daddy with his legion of adoring fans!"

They approach the table that he is serving. It is a large one - a pensioner's outing. The women fawn over him, naturally; the men grumbling at their wives' behaviour and thanking Daddy for his service. He turns only when his shoulder is tapped. He would recognise that tap anywhere and his demeanour immediately brightens upon seeing his daughter. She jumps from Mummy and Daddy, very lucky in the fact that she is caught.

Mummy is breathless and apologetic after that, awkwardly saying, "I'm really sorry," to Daddy's customers, but Daddy doesn't seem to care.

Daddy says, "Hello, my angel," and bounces her up and down in his arms. Her legs are locked around his middle and she is smiling.

"Can I stay here with you?" she asks.


	9. lure

_lure_

* * *

She doesn't do what Mummy says, often because she knows Mummy hardly ever fights back. Mummy gives in easily. Too easily is what Daddy says, but Daddy is working right now and Mummy is the only one home.

It is a Saturday and she has decided to be difficult. She is refusing to get dressed, to leave her bedroom and go shopping like her Mummy wants her to. She hates shopping. She hates constantly having to hold Mummy's hand as she whips them around shop after shop, making purchase after purchase. And none of it is ever, _ever_ for her. Mummy is selfish. Mummy likes clothes and shoes and bags. Coats, too. Pretty, shiny things shop assistants are never keen on letting six year olds touch and none of it is fair at all.

She is pouting on her side of the door, the door which she is sat heavily against on a beanbag and is refusing to move from. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest.

"I don't wanna go," she protests.

She can hear Mummy sighing.

"Please, darling. I'm not gonna ask you again."

"Then don't!"

Mummy is taken aback by that. The teenaged cheek, arrived a decade too early. She doesn't even know what to say to it. All she knows is that she isn't giving in, not today. Not after Daddy spent most of the previous evening gently berating the way she parents.

The TV had been turned down and their daughter had been listening to every single word. She'd heard kitchen cupboards slam shut; the door of their bedroom very nearly knocked off its hinges, for Mummy had gotten rather angry by the end of their conversation, and had stormed off. She'd told Daddy to do something she knows she must never repeat. And wouldn't dare.

"I'll phone Daddy," Mummy says after a long pause. She is one step closer to admitting defeat and she hates herself for it.

"I don't care," comes the reply.

"Do you think he'll be happy if I interrupt him at work?"

"Yeah, but you told me Daddy hardly ever does any proper work."

She thinks Mummy is smiling at her retort. She thinks it because she cannot see her, but she is sure she can hear a smile in her voice when she explains, "I meant when we're around. Not when we're not. He does work then."

There is another long pause. She can hear rummaging on Mummy's side of the door. She's probably searching through that bag of hers, the one her daughter believes she is obsessed with.

"Can't I lure you out with something?" Mummy asks. It sounds like a rhetorical question, so she doesn't answer it. "What do you want, eh? Chocolate? A kiss? A cuddle?"

"I wanna shop where I want to shop for a change," she moans.

"Sorry?"

"I wanna look in the shops, Mummy. Shops for me for once."

Mummy is laughing. Like mother, like daughter.

"You little diva," she chuckles.

The door slowly opens.


End file.
